• The night is like a masquerade ball,
    Always hiding those beneath a dark mask,
    Never showing what they are,
    And what to expect as is or isn't really there.

    Forever covered by the suspicion that something is a mist,
    And no reassurance to prove circumstances wrong,
    We are left only wondering what the rest of the night may hold.

    People can keep on dreaming,
    But it is those who walk alone at night that get their thrill.
    They give new light to other things that go bumping in the dark,
    Behind shadow walls and slowly crawls,
    And get a good glimpse at the creatures that go haunting the nightmares of our dreams.

    Before the wise can even creep around,
    The mysterious sounds begin their echo songs,
    Repeating in various ways to make listening a scary pound,
    The heart grasping for some silence that can't be found.

    And the whose and ticks of the owls and crickets,
    All just the forest animals that can't do no harm,
    It is the monsters under the beds and on children closets that mark terror in their heads,
    And although bedtime stories are just tales,
    It's those spooky ghost stories that make brave men pale.

    These tossing and turnings done all through the night,
    The never ending feeling that ones not alone in their fright,
    The eerie calmness of an abyss that's not too right,
    Can all keep us surrounded in our chambers of sleep,
    Up until the morning,
    When the dark begins to seep,
    Leaving the daylights rising,
    From out of our homes,
    As a tiresome reminder that the night is now gone.